Page 60 of You're Not My King!

He couldn’t.

“I-Is he…?”

“Breathing, yes,” Zae’l ground out, not stopping in his march toward Fiona’s tent. I staggered behind on autopilot, my feet moving too fast for my brain to catch up. The world was spinning, my need to be beside my mate the sole reason I was still upright. My hands shook with both panic and idleness. I didn’t know what to do. I felt useless, blankly watching from the sidelines as Zae’l hefted my unconscious alien onto Fiona’s workbench, the only sign of life the weak rise and fall of his chest.

Hot tears spilled over my cheeks.

“Oh, goodness,” Fiona muttered, studying him as a doctor would their patient, but I saw the pain in her eyes, in the way her throat bobbed on a hard swallow. She addressed Zae’l in Ly’zrd, probably asking for a report on the incident, to figure out how to help. I couldn’t help. I couldn’t do anything except drown in wave after wave of fear and regret.

What if I never get the chance to tell him that I…

That I…

Eyes burning, I bit into my bottom lip until the taste of copper coated my tongue, the sting secondary to the ache in my chest. Fiona was inspecting the obvious wound, the black veins spanning wider with every second that passed. She seemed oblivious to the steady trickle of blue blood pooling on the table beneath his thigh, and that was how I spotted his tail, or what was left of it, severed and broken, trapped between his legs with a scrap of fabric tied too loose around the tip.

He might only have had minutes before he bled out.

“His tail…” I croaked, barely above a whisper, and two sets of eyes snapped to mine. They projected too much pity and sadness. I couldn’t handle it. “Let me bandage his tail, to stop the bleeding.”

Fiona glanced at the stump, but seemed unconcerned, lifting her gaze back to mine. “Lovey, you don’t have to be here?—”

I ignored her, springing into action, mechanically scouring the shelves for salve and clean strips of bandage. I knew she had a poultice that stopped bleeding, I’d seen it. It clotted the blood or some shit, I didn’t fucking know, but it was the only solution I could think of. It had to work, if only I could find it among all the other junk. It had to still be there somewhere, ’cause she hadn’t used it, and?—

The bowl was on the highest shelf, tucked right at the back. I pushed onto my toes to grab it before snatching up some strips of cloth from the row farther down. “We need fresh water,” I called out, turning to Zae’l. “Boil it. Now.”

Zae’l face hardened, considering, then he looked to Fiona as if seeking a second opinion. She nodded, and he left the tent in a rush.

“He’s been poisoned,” Fiona reported with a jaded sigh, examining Vo’ak’s chest. “I’ll mix up a generic antidote. It should delay the spread until we know for sure what was used.”

I hummed absently, not really listening. I’d heard ‘poison’ and switched off in case thinking about it paralyzed me. I had to stop the bleeding; I couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Standing at Vo’ak’s side, I worked mindlessly, fighting against my trembling hands to coat the gushing stump in paste before stuffing a wad of fabric onto the end and wrapping it, again and again, until no blood seeped through. I squeezed tight, holding on with both hands for extra pressure, refusing to let go.

Fiona ground herbs and liquids in her mortar as fast as I’d ever seen her, flitting around the tent, adding this and that till she was satisfied with the gloopy mixture. I couldn’t keep up, didn’t even try, already one sudden movement away from keeling over. She slathered the rotting skin with the green salve, even packed some inside the wound, and only then did all the pent-up emotion and dizziness become too much.

I doubled over, emptying the contents of my stomach onto the floor.

“’M sorry,” I whimpered when the surge finally ended, hand still clutching Vo’ak’s tail, probably to anchor myself more than anything. My head was pounding, and the muscles in my abdomen protested every strained breath. “’M so sorry.”

“It’s alright, dearie,” Fiona cooed from beside me, stroking circles into my back. I had no idea how long she’d been there. “Let it all out.”

The dam broke, gut-wrenching sobs shredding their way up my throat as my whole body shook, my breath now coming in short, pathetic gasps. Distantly, I heard the tent flap whipping open, and Nie’tr was in my space, hands fumbling over my shoulder, my arms, expression pinched with concern. He was trying to soothe me, to calm my swelling panic, but he didn’t know how.

No one knew.

Only Vo’ak.

I hiccuped so hard I should’ve choked, but fingers curled around my nape, triggering a system reboot. Melting into the touch, I could almost imagine they were his fingers, that it was his scent enveloping me, his warmth. My distress subsided. I sniffed, wiping my nose on my sleeve, everything was a mess of snot and spit, but I couldn’t care.

Vo’ak, he…

What if he…

Gulping down the lump in my throat, I slumped onto one of the stone stools, determined not to leave his side, no matter what. I hazarded a glance at his face, at the eyelashes fanning over his cheeks, the blood spattered over his skin. He could rest, but he couldn’t die.

He can’t.

There was no way of knowing how long I sat there, staring at his blank expression, hoping he would wake up and smirk at me like the cocky bastard he was. It was long enough for Zae’l to return with the pot of boiling water, and for Fiona to interrogate him in the language I still didn’t understand. She sounded worried, and I hated it. In all the days I’d spent shadowing her, in this very workshop, I’d never seen her so flustered, so unsure of her skill. It set me on edge.

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